Homecoming
by Plesiosaur
Summary: Real World Bubbline challenge fic. Marceline Abadeer lands in the middle of the Alaskan wilderness with no plan, no job and no idea what she's going to even do when she gets there. But she has ten sled dogs, an old house in the woods and a vague idea that she might have found where she belongs. Rated T mostly for language.
1. Chapter 1

**I'm proud to present the project I've been feverishly working on recently and request your approval, fanchildren! This was a request fic from the lovely Zouboss so send them some love too! I have a _ton_ of request fics in the works as well as a lot of IRL work stuff happening so please be patient, if you requested something I will get to writing it but it'll take a little time I'm afraid. I owe you the last chapter of Desperate Measures and I will get to it, just, yeah been stupid busy.**

 **Notes! As ever, for a Real World fic there are a metric ton of notes to go with this fic. First off, I had to research Alaska. And then Alaskan Natives, specifically the Yupik of Central and Western Alaska. I had to look up Deep Southern dialect style guides, I had to run it past actual southern Americans, and have all my British spellings corrected. I'd like to thank my truly awesome proofers for being brilliant and a huge help in the writing of a story I really had no choice but to set in the far North of the US. So, if the sections where I have anyone speaking with a Southern accent don't see right to you, please remember I ran it past a genuine Southerner who confirmed they 100% talk like that. I was so nervous about writing those sections. There are a couple of minor OCs in this chapter, I needed some lady lovin' ladies.**

 **Content Warning: Implied homophobia, minor OCs, off screen character death, feels.**

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Marceline Abadeer was seven years old and she knew a secret. It all started the day Uncle Simon took her into Teller with him to buy supplies, riding shotgun in the cab of his old pickup with the radio crackling and the hot sun beating down through crystal clear northern air. That summer was the first she'd spent in Alaska, the first since she'd lost her Mom in a car accident and her father had decided it was easier to pack her off to the only pretence of family she had than have to deal with her himself until school started again. So she was put on a small plane and sent north for hours, until they finally touched down on a tiny airfield where an old man she didn't know met her and explained he was her Uncle Simon, not really an uncle by blood but a friend of her mother's former tutor and sort of her godfather. Marcy had been quite frightened until he opened the door of his pickup and a rumpled white puppy opened his eyes and yipped at her. Then she was too excited to remember to be afraid.

"His name is Schwabl, he's half poodle and half husky. He's a mix, like you, darling. I thought you might have some fun training him this summer, he'll never be able to keep up with the other dogs on the sled but he's still gonna need a steady hand. Think you're up to the challenge?" he asked with a quiver in his snowy beard that she later learnt meant he was smiling.

The day they rode out to The Big Town together Schwabl stayed in the pickup and they made their way to the supply store hand in hand. After three weeks in his company Uncle Simon felt like more of a parent than her father ever had and Marcy was totally at ease around him. The store was like something from an old Wild West movie to her young eyes; all dressed pine and bundles of herbs drying on the exposed roof rafters. But there was a barrel of dried pig ears and she thought she might get one for Schwabs if he was a good boy and learned to stay when she told him to. She wasn't really listening to the conversation Simon was having with Ron James, the man who owned the store, but when they dropped their voices it caught her attention. Grownups whispering meant they were talking about something she wasn't supposed to hear and little Marcy was burning with curiosity.

"Heard you got yourself a couple of them tourists from the city staying out in the cabins." Ron was saying to Simon, who made a noncommittal grunt in reply.

"Saw 'em come through town yesterday, hand in hand as open as you please. Didn't think you'd rent to that type, Petrikov." Ron pressed.

"Their money's still green. So long as nothing's broken when they leave they can come back every year far as I care. Lord knows I could use the regular income. And what two consenting adults do in the privacy of a room they're paying for's no concern of mine, or yours, or any of the gossips in this town. They're hurting nobody, let them be." Simon replied with a quiet sigh and a hand tugging the end of his beard in a rare gesture of annoyance.

"But still, you trust them shameless Ellen DeGeneres types around your niece? What if she catches them, you know?" Ron made a complicated gesture with his hands; it looked to Marceline like he was trying to mash two pairs of finger scissors together. She frowned, not understanding.

"Marcy, darling, did you pick out a present for Schwabs yet?" Simon asked, raising his voice a little and turning to her. Even Marcy knew that that meant the conversation with Ron James was over.

She was quiet on the ride back out to the house but that wasn't unusual. Uncle Simon made a couple of attempts at conversation but he wasn't the most talkative type either so they mostly just listened to the snatches of music between the radio crackle and the occasional whine from Schwabl. That night Marcy lay in bed and wondered what it all meant, what Ellen DeGeneres types were and what the finger scissors had all been about and why Ron James objected to tourists renting one of Uncle Simon's empty cabins. That was what they were for, wasn't it? He had four little log cabins out in a field about a half a mile from the main house, with a nice view of the lake and the town because tourists liked that sort of thing. From what Marcy understood the little money Uncle Simon made each year mostly came from tourists renting his cabins for a few nights at a time.

The problem with the arctic summer was that it never really got properly dark. Marcy's room had blinds that left it gloomy but her body-clock was confused because it still felt like the evening. It might be late at night but she could still see dull twilight reflected on the sloping wooden ceiling behind the curtains. Uncle Simon's snores in the next room announced he had no similar problems sleeping and the mystery of the cabin weighed heavy on her mind as she tossed and turned and eventually sat up with a sigh. It was no good; sleep just wasn't going to happen when there was a real live mystery just a short walk away. It was like Scooby Doo, Marcy decided. And she could be Shaggy and Schwabs would be Scooby and they would go and investigate the secret of the cabin together. Except she was going to bring her teddy bear Hambo along too, just in case it got scary.

Sneaking out of the house was easy enough; Simon could have slept through pretty much anything. And once she was outside it was a straight walk through the dusk down the dirt path to the tourist cabins so it didn't take long for a determined girl and excited puppy to cover half a mile of ground when there was a mystery motivating them. Except as she drew near the cabins Marceline started to feel a little uneasy, wondering for the first time if maybe she might get in trouble for being out of bed and wandering around in the middle of the night. But then she saw lights on up ahead and she forgot to be worried any more. She was Shaggy, she was Nancy Drew. She was going to solve The Mystery of the Tourist Cabin.

Two women sat together on the small porch at the front of the single roomed wooden hut, sharing a blanket and a fragrant cigarette and talking in low voices. There were no other tourists staying so it was an easy thing for Marcy and Swchabl to sneak closer unnoticed. One of the women was tall with dark hair held back in a ponytail and squarish glasses, she had the sort of face that Marcy thought made her look like she was probably very kind and worried a lot about what other people thought. The shorter woman had a sweep of fiery red hair and delicate, pretty features. She spoke with a strange accent and smiled a lot, they both seemed very at ease with each other.

It was Schwabl's fault that they got discovered. He ignored Marcy's whispered command to stay and rushed forward with his tail wagging; she considered bitterly that she'd been too hasty to give him his treat for learning the command that afternoon.

"Aw hey there little fella, where did you come from?" the brown haired woman asked, crouching down to Schwabl and letting him sniff her hands excitedly. Marcy didn't dare come forward too; she was skulking in the shadows at the side of the next cabin trying to decide how to proceed.

"Älskling? There's a little girl watching us over there." the red haired woman said, stubbing her cigarette out hurriedly and frowning down at where she'd somehow noticed Marcy. "Are you lost, sweetheart? It is very late, shouldn't you be in bed?"

"Couldn't sleep." Marceline squeaked, too mortified at being caught snooping to really articulate much of a defense for herself.

"Are you here with your family? Come on out, we're not gonna yell at you. Do you want a glass of juice or something?" the other lady asked, looking up from where Schwabs was flopping around on his back getting his belly rubbed.

And that was how Marcy ended up having a glass of lingonberry juice and talking to the women renting Uncle Simon's guest cabin. She'd almost forgotten why she was there until the dark haired woman whose name she'd discovered was Carly stood to take the empty glasses back inside and dropped a casual kiss onto the redhead's lips. Marcy gasped, surprised, and they looked around at her.

"Ron James said you went through town holding hands." Marcy announced in a rush. "He said Uncle Simon might not want to rent to people like you."

"Ron James sounds like a small minded kind of man. He's upset that your uncle is renting a cabin to us because we are a gay couple." the red haired woman, Maria, explained.

"Some people don't like that we're both women. Instead of having boyfriends we have a relationship with each other, like boyfriends and girlfriends but with two girlfriends instead. You never met a gay couple before?" Carly asked gently. Marcy shook her head.

"I didn't know you were allowed to not have a boyfriend." she muttered. They both laughed and her cheeks burned from embarrassment.

"Oh sweetheart we're not laughing at you. But I didn't know that when I was little either, that's why it was such a big shock for me when I grew up and didn't want to kiss boys. It's just kinda funny to hear you say the same thing I thought when I was your age." she explained with a smile.

Both women held their breaths expectantly while they watched the expressions roll across Marcy's little face. In the half gloom it was hard to make out if her bronzed features were pulled into a frown of disgust or simply thought. But then she nodded like she'd just realized something important.

"Ok. But my Mom kissed boys, she special kissed my Daddy and that's how they got me and then she died in the car crash. I miss her." Marcy informed them with her solid little girl logic. "Uncle Simon got Schwabl for me even though he's never gonna be able to keep up with the other sled dogs. He's a mix, like me. My Mom was a Yupik native and my Daddy is white. His family came from Scotland a hundred years ago and that's in Europe, it's real small and sometimes boys wear skirts there. Uncle Simon said Schwabl is a half husky but I think he's half a wolf."

"Are you sure? He's real curly, looks like he's got a bit of sheep in him." Carly replied with a sidelong smile to her girlfriend.

"He's a wolf, I taught him to howl." Marcy insisted. "So you never ever have to kiss boys?"

"Never ever. But it's really late, you should go get some sleep. Come on, I'll drive you home."

She managed to sneak back in the house without Simon noticing but he still seemed plenty well informed when Marcy announced she was going to go fishing with Carly and Maria over breakfast next morning. He just told her to have fun and do everything the ladies told her and to be very careful around the deep water, and that was that. Marceline Abadeer was seven years old, and she knew the secret that gay women were just like everyone else except that they never ever had to kiss boys and that didn't sound too terrible to her.

…

After that first summer the annual trip north easily became Marceline's favorite. Summers meant dog training with Simon and playing in huge open fields with the local kids, harassed by biblical swarms of mosquitoes and tanned to a rich copper in the almost constant sun just like her mother in old photographs. It meant babysitting Carly and Maria's first, second and eventually third sons when they came by on their yearly vacation. But best of all summers meant a whole two months away from Hunson and the awful burning inferno that southern California became halfway through spring until almost the end of fall.

Every year it got harder to board the light aircraft heading south and leave Alaska behind a whole month or more before she ever got to see the first snowfall. Stepping back through the doors of school and knowing it would be months before she escaped again got more and more depressing right up until finals were over every year and she finally graduated high school. Hunson was absolute in his refusal to allow his daughter to apply to a college out of state so she was duly packed off to the University of San Diego with a beat up second-hand bass guitar and a warning that her father did not expect her to fail a single class ringing in her ears. Then summers became a desperate scramble to work as much as possible and save enough money before the next semester started so that she wouldn't have to go home and beg Hunson for money at least until Spring Break or maybe even after if she was really careful about what she ate. And the letters from Simon still came in every two weeks like clockwork, complete with photos of the year's new pups and how they were growing along with plenty of snaps of grumpy old Schwabl. And then just a few months out of graduation and still desperately searching for a full time career job Marceline came back to her tiny two-room rental to find a letter she hadn't expected in the mailbox. The address was machine-printed instead of being in Simon's usual blocky scribble and she opened it curiously on the trek up the narrow stairwell. Her whole world changed in the time it took to read the few bare lines printed on stark white paper.

As the ground fell away beneath her and the jet engines thundered harder Marceline rested her head back against her seat, closed her eyes and just as they had for the whole of the last week those words sprung unbidden to her mind like they'd been burned into her brain.

 _It is with deepest sympathy that we are writing to inform you of the unexpected death of your godfather, Simon Petrikov. You are the sole_ _beneficiary named in his final will and testament and as such inherit his entire estate..._

He'd begged off Marcy's graduation ceremony because there was nobody to watch the dogs. She'd spent a lot of time afterwards wondering if he'd known he was ill, if he hadn't wanted to upset her by turning up looking so sick and weak or if maybe the length of the journey was just too much for him to manage. And this year Simon had told her he had a surprise for her; she'd been saving to come up and visit when there was snow on the ground and he'd had something planned to celebrate the end of her formal education more personally than a pompous graduation ceremony. It had been five years since Marceline had been back to see Simon, five years of carefully watching every cent and dreaming about flying north and missing the cool air like she'd been trapped in hell.

The stop-over in Seattle was torturous; it was the middle of the night, Marceline was already exhausted from losing a week's sleep to grief and the airport was busier and louder than she'd hoped it would be. She tried to nap on a row of uncomfortable plastic chairs but in the end sat and watched the digital clock in the departures lounge tick slowly through almost five hours until the glow of daylight outside told her it was time to catch the connecting flight to Nome. Marcy boarded the light aircraft in a numb haze, too tired to think about anything but her grief or to even sleep for more than a few minutes. But she must have slept anyway because the last thing she remembered was watching Seattle disappear and then Vancouver slide by beneath her. Perhaps she'd simply blacked out from the combination of loss and exhaustion. Then the popping of her ears woke her as they descended into the tiny Alaskan city of Nome and Marceline looked out of the window with a heavy heart; it wasn't the same gazing down at the corrugated sheet metal shack that served as a small airport and knowing that Simon wasn't inside waiting for her. She'd missed his funeral already since there hadn't been a flight she could afford that would get her there on time and there was no way she was voluntarily speaking to Hunson to ask for a bail out, not now she'd finally graduated. After disembarking and reclaiming her bag she trudged through the tiny airport with her shoulders slumped, only looking up in surprise when someone called her name unexpectedly.

"Hey, Marcy! You need a ride?"

It was Jake Madigan, one of the local boys around her own age that she'd occasionally played with as a child on days they'd ventured as far as The Big Town. His enormous hand were holding out a sign with her name on it; she'd walked right past him and never noticed.

"Hey, Jake. Thanks. I was gonna just hitch it, didn't realise anyone would have come out to get me." she replied a little awkwardly. Still exhausted, feeling gross from sitting on an airplane for hours and self-conscious of her red, swollen eyes she'd been hoping to avoid running into anyone she knew until they got as far as The Big Town. No such luck but at least she wasn't in for hours more of trudging down the roadside trying to thumb a lift. She followed Jake out into the crisp fall chill and pulled her jacket tight around her shoulders as he made his way to the parking lot and showed her to the side door of an ancient sedan.

"I'm sorry about your uncle. I went to the funeral, it was a real nice service." Jake said softly as he keyed the engine to life.

"Uh-huh. Sorry I missed it. Got here as quick as I could." Marcy replied, avoiding his eyes.

It was a relief when they made it out of the parking lot and onto the road since Jake had to keep his attention on driving and couldn't push much conversation. Marcy watched the vivid yellows and reds of the forests and dying grasses flash past them as they accelerated down the highway and stared up at the endless stretch of sky overhead, a uniformly cloudless watercolor blue. She wondered if Simon had been at peace at the end. Rolling through the wide streets of Teller with its ramshackle slatted wooden buildings was bittersweet; there was Ron James' store on the corner and the white wood church house that Simon had insisted they visit every Sunday morning when he'd donned his one and only suit and insisted she put her hair up in a red silk ribbon. And that must be where the townsfolk had gathered to say goodbye three days ago, while she was still crippled by grief and unable to get there any quicker.

"I came by this morning and fed the dogs, they'll need a run soon enough though." Jake warned her quietly as they finally pulled up outside Simon's house about ten miles outside of town. Her house now, Marceline realized. One day soon she'd need to ride over to the law firm in Nome and sign the paperwork but she wasn't ready to face that yet and nobody objected to her staying in the house she legally owned before her name was officially added to the deeds.

She nodded to show she'd heard Jake but she didn't reply; Marceline had already thought of that and she was more than willing to go for a run with the dogs. Jake helped her carry her bag to the porch and nodded towards the house.

"Stocked the fridge for you and filled the gas tank, you should be set for a week or so. The pickup keys are in the kitchen and I left a list of useful numbers by the phone. No cell signal out here. I didn't know how long you were planning on staying?" he added in a tone that didn't really hide how he was fishing for information. Marceline just shrugged, she had no idea yet. "Well if you need anything give me or Finn a holler, we'll be around. Or Ron or Daniel, any of the guys in town. Don't think there's any guests booked for the cabins till next season now so you'll be on your own out here unless you invite folk up. I'll let you get settled, get the dogs out to run before dark. Like I said, let us know if you need something. Probably Finn'll be around to check on you tomorrow or the day after anyways."

"Thanks, Jake. Say hi to Finn. I'll be here tomorrow, I'm not going anywhere. And, uh, thank you for the ride." Marceline replied a little awkwardly.

He tipped his hat to her and climbed back behind the wheel, leaving her to take her bags inside. The rumble of his engine had barely disappeared into the distance before a familiar whine came from the darkened lounge and a pale shaggy shape limped towards her. Marcy dropped to her knees on the worn wood floor, flung her arm around Schwabl's neck and gave in to the tears that had been burning her eyes for hours. Nobody was around to judge her for them anyway so she cried herself dry against her childhood pet's fur while he panted in her ear and nuzzled her anxiously.

…

Despite her exhaustion and the muscle fatigue from jogging through the woods that night, sleep was still eluding Marceline and eventually she rolled out of bed and wandered through to the small kitchen to heat a pot of water and make herself some tea. Simon had insisted she was too young for coffee even when she'd been fifteen; he'd approved of green tea because of its health benefits though. With his old fingerless gloves insulating her hands and Schwabs stretched out against her feet Marceline lowered herself down on the front step of the porch and allowed the comforting sounds of the forest at night to wrap around her like a blanket. The night was full of the whispering of crisp fall leaves stirred by the breeze and the tranquil call of the occasional owl somewhere off in the distance as it ghosted silently through the branches. For a while Marceline just stared at her threadbare socks and tried unsuccessfully not to feel or think at all. She was so tired but she couldn't rest. Her brain was running at a thousand miles an hour and the house was too quiet without Simon's snores, although Schwabl was definitely doing his best to make up for it.

The elderly dog was really getting on now, he was a cool fifteen years old and she thought sadly that this would probably be his last winter. But he'd had a good life and he had his mistress back; she'd stay at least long enough to make sure he went to his final goodnight in comfort and love. Maybe she'd stay longer. Simon had made a good life for himself in the Alaskan wilderness and her parents had grown up there. She was half Yupik, the north was in her blood and there had always been something about the ancient forests and impossibly vast open skies of Alaska that had called to her. And yet despite her connection with the land she still had a lot to learn about it, still had her first arctic winter to get through if she stayed that long. She was as clueless as a child, she thought despondently. Like a lost little orphan with no tribe or clan to teach her how she should move through the landscape.

Maybe it was the soul-deep exhaustion or the general lack of attention to her surroundings but it took Marceline a few minutes of listless staring into space before she noticed that there was a flickering light in the corner of her eye. For a split second she thought the tops of the trees had been set on fire somehow before she realized what she must be witnessing for the very first time in her life.

"I've never seen the Northern Lights before, Schwabs." she breathed, staring entranced at the wavering lines of green and blue radiance dancing off in the distance behind the treetops. "It was always too light on the nights here in the summer. But Mom told me when I was really little that her grandmother told her that the lights were the spirits of the dead dancing in the sky, all the great warriors and healers and medicine women of the tribes dancing and playing in the night to light the way to the heavens for the living. Do you think Simon's up there?"

Schwabl stirred up the dust a little with his tail and looked up at her with his soulful amber eyes like he was listening to her.

"I mean, I know he wasn't Yupik but he lived close to the land, he held nature in sacred respect and he was the gentlest man I ever met. I think if anyone deserves to spend their afterlife dancing in the sky then Uncle Simon does. I bet he's up there dancing with Mom. I wanna meet some other Yupik, find out more about their stories and culture. I just want to feel like I'm part of a wider family, I guess. Like a pack. I wanna find my pack. Does that make sense? I thought a dog might understand."

Schwabs half scrabbled to his feet and nuzzled into her legs; she held her old enamel mug in one hand and let the other find the blissful scratch spot behind the elderly dog's ear. From the expression on his fuzzy face he'd missed her every bit as much as she'd missed him. They sat out on the porch watching the Northern Lights dance for hours more, until the chill night finally made its way through the ancient knit sweater Marceline had draped around her shoulders. By the time she stumbled back into the house and up the staircase to the only bedroom she'd felt really safe in since she was seven years old it felt like she'd finally turned down the volume in her brain. Her thoughts still raced but they were disjointed and a little surreal; as she closed her eyes again and rested her head on her pillow they'd already begun to slide into the beginnings of dreams. Nowhere was as peaceful as the Alaskan wilderness, she thought sleepily. And Simon had spent his whole life there; if he had to pass away then at least it was with the fall breeze weaving through the trees and the companionship of his loyal dogs around him. There were much worse ways to die, really.

…

Morning brought Finn Mertens in his brand new Sheriff Department cruiser. He tipped his hat formally to her before letting a huge grin spread across his face and wrapping her up in a hug. That was just Finn's way though, he'd always been a hands-on sort of guy ever since they'd met as kids. Besides nobody could pull up a salmon like him or was as uniformly adored by every single one of the dogs almost every household kept. Finn was so much a part of the landscape that he'd barely needed to apply to become the Sheriff's deputy, it felt like he'd been born to the job.

"Real sorry about old man Simon, we were fishing buddies. I mean, not like, y'know, _Brokeback Mountain_ kinda fishing buddies. Like, he showed me how to bait a hook when I was just a minnow myself." Finn added hurriedly. That brought a genuine smile to Marceline's face, her first in longer than she could remember.

"He spoke real highly of you too, man. Said you were more Alaskan that the bears in these parts. You know, he was real proud when you went off to cop college, said you were the right man for the job. He wrote and told me so."

Finn's chest puffed out with pride and he might have replied if Schwabl hadn't hobbled up to his side and started sniffling at his hands. But rubbing the old dog's ears was definitely at the top of his priority list and pretty quickly Finn's pants were covered in a layer of wiry white fur.

"Aw who's a good old guy, huh? How's my special guy doing? You jealous you're not gonna be in the Teller Hundred? I bet Marce'll bring you to the finish line though, watch the runners come through." he told Schwabs while the old dog drooled and made happy huffing noises.

"The Teller Hundred?" Marcy prompted curiously.

"Oh, yeah. Sometimes I forget you've only been here through the summers before. Every midwinter they have a two-day hundred mile sled sprint that starts and ends on Main Street in The Big Town. It's just a local race, nothing special. But Simon always brought Schwabs down to see the runners come through, little guy always looked like he wanted to join in. But I guess you'll be gone come midwinter?" Finn replied carefully. Marceline sighed; he was no more subtle than his half brother Jake.

"I dunno. I really don't. I've not got a whole lot waiting for me back in Cali anyway, no real job yet and no significant other. I read to the old folks at the retirement villas sometimes but it's a volunteer thing, I don't get paid for it, but I wait tables when they need me in the local diner. I'd rather be as far away from my father as humanly possible." she sighed.

Finn nodded; everyone in the area knew about Hunson Abadeer and his high school graduation day elopement with her mother. They'd quietly taken themselves off to the courthouse in Nome after graduation to sign the marriage license and then escaped south via his masterplan of joining up with the Navy before her parents could break his eighteen year old legs when they discovered their daughter was secretly married and accidentally pregnant. Hunson Abadeer was the cautionary tale fathers told their sons when they gave them the Talk, his fate was the reason you always used condoms and took precautions. Marceline had been born in the middle of one of the hottest summers on record right down on the Gulf of Mexico, probably about as far from her grandparents as possible without leaving the country completely. She'd never even met them; they'd passed away when she was very small and Hunson had never allowed his wife to visit family in Alaska. She hadn't even been allowed to attend her mother's funeral.

"Well if you're around I'll be racing, might be cool if you wanted to wait and cheer for me at the finishing line. Maybe grab a beer or two afterwards?" Finn asked with a charming smile. Marceline's eyes narrowed a little; the blonde man had a reputation as something of a local Casanova.

"Beers I can do. Anything else is off the table. No offence, man. You're just not my type." Marcy replied, shaking her head. Fending off Finn's artless advances was almost more than she felt equal to and to his credit the man just shrugged, still smiling guilelessly.

"Can't blame a guy for trying. But if beers are something you're down for then Jake and I are cracking open a couple six packs at his place tonight, you're more than welcome to come along. We'll make sure the guys go easy on you since you're a girl and all."

"I'll drink every man of you under the table, Mertens. See you out on Main Street about seven?" she replied with a smile.

"Seven on Main. It's a date."

"Not in a thousand years. But I'll be there. And if you try to make kissy faces at me I _will_ punch you, understand?"

"Threatening assault on a cop, I could arrest you."

"You could try?"

He laughed, hugged her again, petted Schwabl one last time and climbed back behind the wheel of his cruiser. Marcy watched him out of sight before she went around to the kennels to let the huskies out for another run. She was deep in the woods, sprinting all out with ten excited dogs leaping around her when the telephone in the house rang so she had no idea she was expecting company any time soon.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks so much for the lovely feedback on the last chapter! Since this story is already completed and sitting in my inbox ready to post I'm just going to go ahead and post the next chapter, why make you wait more than necessary, right? I am working on other things though and there are at least another three request fics in the works for you lovely people. So. Many. Requests. It's brilliant but also keeps me pretty dang busy.**

 **As with the last chapter, please be aware that my knowledge of American accents comes mainly from movies and games but I have had genuine US citizens, some of them from so far south they're almost at the Mexican border, check it over and declare it fit for purpose. But even still, I don't wanna offend anyone. So heads up there's some Southern dialogue heading your way in this chapter.**

 **Content Warning: grief, homophobia, racial slurs, backstory.**

* * *

It was twenty four hours later. Marceline's hangover was still rumbling around in the back of her head when Jake's friendly girlfriend Lady dropped her off about a mile and a half from the house. She'd spent the night on their sofa after drinking into the early hours and as she trudged off up the track feeling sorry for herself the remains of her headache pulsed behind her eyes like a second heartbeat. Marceline distantly wondered how young Jake must have started drinking to have that kind of built up resistance, she hadn't really had anything to do with alcohol until she'd been in college but it seemed like they started early out in the middle of nowhere. But it had been fun, the first genuine fun she'd had in months. Years, maybe. At least since she'd stopped playing with her last band; they'd had a great time but everyone had finals and there just hadn't been enough hours in the day for studying and rehearsals and all. It had been good to hang out with Jake and Finn, Lady and some of their friends, watch some crappy cable TV and drink some beer and just spend time around people her own age, be sociable for once. Nobody had ever accused Marceline of being a social butterfly but she did enjoy the company of others sometimes.

As she neared the house Schwabl came trotting out to meet her and Marcy narrowed her eyes. He'd been securely left inside last night so he didn't get cold in the subzero temperatures and there was no way he'd figure out how to get out on his own. She'd even locked the front door when she'd left for the night; Simon had never but Marceline felt uneasy just leaving the place unsecured even if there was nobody else for miles around. It was a city thing. In San Diego she wouldn't have gone a step past the yard without locking all the doors.

"Should I be looking for a heavy stick to protect myself with?" Marcy muttered to the old dog as she slid silently behind a tree and gazed anxiously up at the house. Schwabl just whined and slumped down by her feet.

There was movement around the doorway and a moment later a woman emerged from the house. Marceline narrowed her eyes at the stranger. She didn't look like a burglar, she wasn't taking any care to be quiet or keep her hands covered. And she was staring around like she was looking for someone; she kept glancing over to Simon's old pickup which when Marcy took the time to look was in front of a truck she didn't recognise. She assumed it must belong to the stranger who'd apparently let themselves into the house. Deciding that it was safe unless the other woman had a gun tucked down the waistband of her pants and not really caring if she got shot anyway Marcy took her courage into both hands, strode out from behind her tree and took a breath.

"HEY! This is private property, what are you doing out here? You better have a good excuse for breaking into my house! I'm not joking, I'm friends with the Sheriff's deputy and he-"

"Is Simon around?" the stranger cut her off before she could detail how Finn might be convinced to come investigate. Marcy stopped dead in her tracks and stared at the woman. "Just, he had an order in with me and I needed to run through a couple more details. I tried calling but nobody picked up. I don't suppose you'd have any idea of his niece's approximate weight and height?"

"Around a hundred and thirty pounds, just under five feet nine. Do I need to explain to you why it's amazingly rude to ask a woman how much she weighs?"

This time it was the stranger who stared hard, ice-blue eyes assessing every line and angle of Marceline's face. Finally she nodded.

"You don't look related. I'm sorry, I just assumed Simon's niece was also, um, you know."

"White? Yeah. A lot of people assumed that. But we weren't blood related, he was my mother's mentor when she was in high school and I called him 'uncle' sorta as a respect thing. And he died last week. Nobody told you?"

The stranger slipped down onto the porch step, looking like she'd just taken a heavy blow to the head.

"He- he... how?" she gasped. Marcy came and sat down next to her because she was tired and still had a headache and didn't want to go through the details without at least being a little comfortable.

"His buddy came out to see him when he missed an appointment in The Big Town. Found him in bed, real peaceful like. The MD over in Nome said it was a massive stroke, said he probably didn't feel a thing. I was the only thing like kin he had so they sent the letter to me. Got here as quick as I could."

"I'm so sorry. He talked about you a lot, he wanted me to make a sled for you. It was a graduation present, he wanted to christen it in the Teller Hundred with you. I already made the harnesses and runners, I just needed to know how high the handle bar should be. I'm opening up my own sled shop out of Teller, I guess that's the big town you mean?"

"Nobody around here calls it Teller. It's The Big Town, it's only Teller on the maps. Huh, he wanted me to race? I've never been on a sled in the snow, never even been here in the winter before." Marcy added wistfully.

In her mind's eye she was seeing herself and Simon flying across the arctic snowfields in dog sleds; something that could never happen now. Grief was strange, Marcy thought as the familiar tears began pouring down her face again without any warning at all. One night she could be chatting animatedly with new friends, drinking and laughing and having a good time. The next morning she might suddenly remember that there was so much she'd never get to do with her beloved uncle. They'd never share that beer Simon had promised he was keeping for her, he'd never come to see her play a gig. And without any warning she might find herself sitting on the porch of his house bawling her eyes out and completely unable to stop the traitorous tears while the local sled maker tried say something comforting. She vaguely wished grief was at least a little predictable.

"Hey, come on now, it's ok. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. Simon was so proud of you, you know? So proud. He told me all about you, said we'd be such good friends when you came up in the winter. You were like a daughter to him. Is it true you came home from your first ever fishing trip with a rainbow trout the length of your arm?" she woman asked gently, awkwardly patting Marcy's back.

"Mhm. Some tourists staying at the cabins took me out in a rowing boat and we caught a whole brace of trout. Carly let me bring the biggest home." Marcy sniffed, ashamed of herself. "Simon talked about me?"

"All the time. He kept telling me how well you were doing at college, told me you majored in music. He was so proud of having a professional musician in the family. Said you were gonna be the next Dolly Parton. It's good to finally meet you, Marceline. My name's Bonnie, by the way. I'm pretty new here too. I'm from Fairbanks originally, I moved out here after college. I'm an engineer." the woman told her with a smile. She stuck out her hand and Marcy shook it, wondering what the hell an engineer from Fairbanks was doing making sleds in the middle of the wilderness north of Nome.

"So why come all the way out here? Doesn't seem like there's much work for an engineer in the middle of the tundra." Marceline replied, making a half-hearted stab at being polite about it. She was still sniffling but shame was beginning to stem the tears; at least the other girl had stopped her awkward back patting for now and was petting Schwabl instead. Marcy definitely understood if she found it easier to talk to the dog instead of another human and she sympathised with the need for hands to be kept busy. It took the other woman a few moments to gather her thoughts and she pulled in a lungful of cold crisp air before she replied.

"I came up to my great-uncle's cabin after graduation last year and decided to stay a while because it's just... I've never been somewhere more peaceful. I'm doing some research into the optimization of the sleds, figured Nome would be a decent base for it since the Iditarod comes through every year. They're in Fairbanks too but there's a lot more competition out there, figured I'd stand out from the crowd if I was fixing their sleds halfway through the race. I was hoping to meet some professionals and show them my designs, maybe land myself a job. I like building stuff and Simon was gonna help by commissioning a race-winning sled for you. We worked out the design together, that's why he gave me a key in case I needed to come by when he was out of town. I- I can't believe he's gone."

Marcy nodded, she couldn't believe it either. Hard to know what to say to that, or to the whole revelation that Simon had been building her a sled and it sounded like he'd been hoping she might move home finally. Because nowhere else felt like home, not really. And these were her people; even the awkward sled designing engineer with the long, artistic looking fingers that skimmed nervously through Schwabl's thick fur rather than reach out and offer more clumsy comfort. She made a decision. This was her land, her earth and her people. She would get to know them; all of them.

"Come on inside, I was gonna boil up some water and make some coffee anyway. You can tell me more about this sled and the race and all. I know just about nothing about dog sled racing." Marcy sighed.

She whistled for Schwabl to follow them back inside and got up, noticing that as well as an artist's hands the other woman had light red waves of hair the same color as the fall leaves sticking out from underneath her hat and a real pretty cast to her face. And that was how Marceline met Bonnie, how she ended up registering as a racer in the Teller Hundred. It was what Simon had wanted, after all.

...

For the next couple of months there wasn't much to be done except running with the dogs and tramping around the house moping as the weather grew colder and colder. The snow fell in brief flurries but it didn't stay long, Marceline longed for the ground to be thickly blanketed in powdery whiteness like it had in her childhood imagination. She had no appetite for changing anything in the layout or decoration inside the house and she was glad for the distraction of Bonnie coming around every few days to talk dog sledding and training and just generally be a friend. The redhead's visits got much more frequent after the first week when she walked in to find Marcy quietly crying on the sofa hugging one of Simon's sweaters. It was like a few times a day her brain reminded her that the only father figure who'd ever really cared about her was gone forever, or she'd have a sudden flashback to her childhood summers there and be instantly crippled with grief. She'd notice something small, like Simon's old radio that he'd repaired time and again at the kitchen table. And then the tears just forced themselves out of her eyes again no matter what she did to stop them.

It was an especially cold day and the sky was so dark and leaden that Bonnie had been in two minds about whether to risk the long drive over. But in the end she hadn't seen her friend for three days, she didn't really know that many other people in the area and perhaps it was just her general nose for trouble but something told her to go over and check on Marcy despite the blizzard warning. Besides, she knew how to handle her old truck even in the worst weather and the threat of snow wasn't enough to put her off the visits that were always the highlight of her week. So Bonnie threw a couple of extra blankets and flashlights in the back of the truck just in case she did end up stuck somewhere, jumped up behind the wheel and set off in high spirits to her friend's house with her heart beating just a little faster than was strictly necessary when she considered the possibility of seeing those wonderful lips curl up in a smile. The weather held for the drive and she decided she'd been lucky and that making the decision to go was a good call. She was intensely glad that she listened to her instincts.

"Marceline?" she called, letting herself into the house by habit and staring around the deserted lounge.

Schwabl came limping through from the kitchen to greet her, whining happily and dusting the floor with his wagging tail when he sat to beg for a treat. Bonnie petted him distractedly before taking the stairs two at a time and almost tripping over her own feet in her haste. Nobody was in either of the two tiny bedrooms upstairs, the bathroom was empty too. She glanced out of the window; the sled dogs were gone so it was pretty likely Marceline had taken them out for a run. Her fitness had been increasing in leaps and bounds with days spent jogging through the undergrowth with ten excited huskies and the dark haired girl seemed to really enjoy the exercise. It pulled a sad smile to Bonnie's face when she realized that running with the dogs was probably one of the only things Marcy really enjoyed; it must be pretty lonely in the evenings being out in the woods with only the company of ten huskies and an ancient poodle crossbreed.

And then another thing occurred to Bonnie and she looked out the window again. Snow was beginning to fall thick and heavy from the sky, hadn't Marceline told her she was excited to see really heavy snow for the first time? She'd only ever been there in the summer, she'd never seen a genuine Alaskan blizzard firsthand. Bonnie was suddenly very worried for her friend; she fled backdown the stairs and only stopped to grab the jacket hanging by the front door on her way. It was typical; of course Marceline was deep in the woods in what was shaping up to be the first real blizzard of the season without even thinking to bring some extra clothes. Visions of Finn Mertens and his police buddies finding Marcy's frozen corpse come the spring thaw had adrenaline and fear pumping equal measure through her bloodstream; she had to find Marceline and get her someplace warm before the blizzard let loose with everything it had. Bonnie wrenched the front door open and hurled herself out into the whiteness. She didn't get more than half a step onto the porch before she collided with something surprisingly solid that knocked her hard to the ground and drove the air from her lungs.

"What the- Bon? Hey, sorry! What's up? You ok?"

For one dizzy second Bonnie had no idea who was addressing her or what was happening. There was whiteness pelting through the rapidly gathering gloom and something mostly white-speckled was looming over her and then she was staring into those same beautiful brown eyes that glowed in the afternoon sun that she'd secretly admired since the first time they'd met.

"Marcy? It's snowing." was all Bonnie could think to say, dazed and breathless as she was.

"Yup, I'd noticed. I might be a southern belle, _darlin'_ , but I still know what it means when white stuff comes down out of the sky. Did you hit your head or something?"

"No, I was worried about you! I didn't know where you were and it was snowing so heavy and I thought you might get lost!"

Marceline snorted at that and stuck out a hand to help her friend back to her feet.

"As if Gunther and his crew don't know their way home. I was at the end of the track when I saw your truck come up the road, I waved but I guess you didn't see me."

"Must have missed you." Bonnie mumbled, embarrassed. "You, ah, I wanted to see how the dogs were getting on and honestly, I was just a little bored. I missed you."

"Lemme put these guys back in their kennel and we'll hang out." Marcy replied with an easy smile, nodding to the ten panting dogs behind them.

The biggest, Gunther, was growling quietly to himself; he was unfriendly around strangers and had only grudgingly accepted Marcy because she was feeding him. He followed her to the kennels at the back of the house but whined plaintively when she opened the gate for him.

"Come on, fatty. You like the snow, you're a sled dog. This is like, barbeque weather for you." Marcy sighed when he just sat down and fixed her with a decidedly sassy stare. "Fine, you guys can spend the night in the house. Just because I'm nice like that."

She jogged up the back steps and opened the door in the kitchen; all ten huskies immediately rushed happily inside. Marceline shut them in and shook her head helplessly.

"I hope I wore them out enough. If I come back later and they tore the house apart I'll make them into a fur coat, Cruella DeVille style." she muttered to Bonnie. Then she grinned and grabbed the redhead's arm. "Come on! Snow!"

It was really coming down; the ground was already covered in a deep white blanket and once the dogs were away Marceline gave herself over to the simple joy of staring up at the sky and marveling at the swirling whiteness.

"You're like a kid in a candy store." Bonnie observed with a smile.

"I, uh, don't laugh at me. I've never seen real heavy snow before. Not like this. This is like something from a movie." Marcy admitted, still staring up at the darkening sky.

"But... seriously? You're a Native, this is your home. You own a house just below the Arctic Circle, you're training for a dog sled race. And you've never seen heavy snow before. You're an enigma, Marceline." Bonnie replied with a small smile. The taller girl didn't reply, just continued staring up at the dark sky like it was the most amazing thing she'd ever seen.

Bonnie took the opportunity afforded by her friend's distraction to take in every detail of her face; impossibly high cheekbones and perfect red lips, long straight nose and keen jawline. Of course Marceline hadn't bothered to bring her jacket since she'd been jogging and Bonnie was struck by the strength in her shoulders where her thin shirt clung to her frame; lithe and trim beneath the undeniably feminine curve of her silhouette yet still quietly powerful. Marceline was something a little wild,just a little fierce. And it took Bonnie's breath away.

"You're staring at me." Marcy murmured with a shy smile. Bonnie blushed and looked away.

"It's just sorta... I dunno, like, I get to see you discover snow for the first time. It feels... private? Sort of, personal I guess. I dunno, I feel like there's a better word for it."

"Intimate."

"What?"

"The word is 'intimate'. It's an intimate moment to watch someone discover something that's so deeply connected to their sense of identity."

Marcy grinned suddenly, breaking the tension, and spun unexpectedly right around with her arms spread to the sky. She let out a delighted laugh, very much like a kid in a candy store.

"It's snowing! Why are we talking all deep and junk when it's really properly _snowing_? Do you know how long I've wanted to see this sort of snow? Every year I begged my father to let me come here for Christmas and every year he told me no. And now I'm finally here in the snow!" she beamed. She stuck her tongue out to catch a snowflake and Bonnie laughed, unable to fight the infectious joy of watching her friend so transformed from her grief and silent mourning by the simple act of witnessing the first blizzard.

Marcy let out a small noise of disappointment, totally out of place when she'd just been so joyful, and Bonnie frowned.

"What's wrong?" she asked worriedly.

"It just tastes like cold water." came the reply.

"Yeah? What did you expect it to taste like?"

"I dunno, I didn't really think about it. Ice cream, maybe? I just expected it to be sweet, I guess. Like, something's missing."

Bonnie's brain made one of the strange connections that sometimes came to her when she wasn't expecting them to. Something sweet. She always had a small pack of hard strawberry candies in the cab of her truck for longer journeys and ever since she'd been small it had been habit to slowly melt one on her tongue as she sped down the highway. Marceline wanted something sweet to make her first snow experience everything she'd been hoping for. And maybe the magic of the moment was intoxicating too right along with the dark haired girl's enthusiasm and joy because Bonnie found her hand reaching out to grasp Marceline's arm without her remembering to decide to do that. But she'd thought about it plenty over the last couple of weeks and Bonnie wasn't the sort of girl to hold back when there was something she badly wanted. She pushed her nerves to one side, she knew what she was going to do.

"What-"

Marceline didn't manage to get more than a single word out before Bonnie was tugging her forward into a soft and sweet kiss. In the swirling snow and dying light it seemed right, like it was something they'd both known was going to happen from the first time they'd met. Perhaps it wasn't the longest or deepest first kiss but it was sweet, the sweetest kiss Marceline had ever had. After a warm, cautious moment she pulled back and took a surprised breath, smiling even more brightly than ever.

"Yeah, that... that's what was missing. Sweet, like that. Do you, ah, wanna come inside?"

"If you want me to." Bonnie replied shyly, grinning down at her shoes and blushing for all she was worth.

"Yeah. It's snowing too heavy to drive home, I'd be scared you'd have an accident or something. Stay, if you want. I mean… you know. If you want. I'd like that?"

The redhead leaned back in for another sweet, soft kiss and her decision was made. She stayed the whole night and the night after and really it was hard to leave even two days later. So she went back to her cabin when the weather allowed, gathered some clothes and her few possessions, and she stayed for as long as Marceline wanted her there.

...

After that first heavy blizzard there were more, so many that really it wasn't safe for Bonnie to try to head back to her cabin again after the one time she went to get some clothes and her things. It was lucky that she'd brought the custom built sled with her, carefully secured in the bed of her truck and almost completely finished now that the race was only two months away.

It may have been Marceline's first winter there but she'd had enough forethought to stock up on supplies so it was a solid two weeks of giggling in bed and messing around with the dogs in the snow before they had to venture into The Big Town for any groceries. Schwabl rode in the cab of Marceline's pick up with them as was his custom and he sat outside of Ron James' store almost blending into the snow pile. They'd only taken one step towards the doors when someone yelled Marcy's name across the street and she turned to see the sheriff's deputy hurrying towards them with a grin plastered across his earnest face.

"Finn! Hey, buddy. How's it going? Ran off any polar bears recently?" she asked with a teasing smile.

"Nah, it's too early in the season for bears. Watch yourself towards the end of the month though, yeah? They've been known to come right up Main Street when they get hungry." His eyes slid to Bonnie and his cheeks colored from just a little more than the cold; Marcy took a protective step ever so slightly closer to the redhead. "I didn't know you guys had met yet. Bonnie's our newest sled designer, she's staying down the other side of the lake."

"We've met." Marcy replied shortly. She reached out to thread their fingers together and Finn nodded, clearly oblivious to the intimacy that gesture implied.

"Ah cool, always good to get new faces around the place. So, um, Bon, you around in town for a while?"

"Staying up at the house with Marcy probably till the spring now. It's closer to town and saves me driving so much." she replied coolly.

"Huh, cool. You, ah, wanna come grab a beer tonight?" Finn pushed, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment.

"Sure. Can I bring my girlfriend?"

"Um, I mean, I was thinking like, just the two of us, no friends... uh... like, a date, sorta thing..."

"Not my friend, Finn. My _girlfriend_."

His eyes flicked between the two of them and down to their entwined hands and his mouth formed a silent 'oh'.

"Wow, when Marcy said I just didn't have enough breasts for her I thought she meant she was into really fat dudes, you know? Thought she was gonna fight Lady for Jake." he announced, trying to make a joke of it.

"You're a dumb guy, Mertens. Sweet, but as dumb as a rock. C'mon, babe, we gotta get some stuff." Marcy sighed in reply, turning back to the store.

"You can still come for beer tonight if you want." Finn told their retreating backs.

"Yeah, maybe. We'll see what we're up to." Marcy replied, hoping Finn was smart enough at least to figure that was code for _I'll be in bed with my girlfriend._ She wasn't completely certain he was.

Ron James' store hadn't changed at all since the first time she'd stepped foot in there, save that the ageing proprietor was now wearing a thick sweater despite having the heating turned up. He smiled when he saw Marceline but the expression turned sour and rigid when he noticed Bonnie and their still clasped hands.

"Never figured you for one of _them_ types, Abadeer." he told her, like it was any of his fucking business. "I told Simon, rent to those tourist fags and see what affect it'll have on the girl, and look at this now. Outsiders and queers comin' through town and-"

Marceline had let go of Bonnie's hand and rolled her shoulders in what the other girl recognized as her 'squaring up' gesture. When she spoke it was with a distinct southern drawl; something she slipped into by habit when she was pissed off rather than her usual careful mimicry of the clipped, brisk accent most folk in Teller used.

"Listen here, _sir_ , y'all better pull your head outta your ass fore' I knock it off your damn shoulders. What I do or don't do in my own home with my good lady ain't nobody's business but ours and if you don't need no custom from 'our type' we'll be glad to drive on over to Nome and fetch our groceries instead. But don't y'all dare tell me what my uncle woulda or wouldn't have approved of, Uncle Simon was a better man than you could hope to be, y'hear me? Now we're gonna buy some food an' you're gonna serve us real polite like and we'll say this never happened. Or you can keep on keepin' on and we'll take our money elsewhere."

"You sure got your Daddy's temper, girl. Wasn't scared of him and I'm not scared of you. Damn Abadeers and your punk attitude, you're just like the damn lot of them. Get out of my fucking store before I call your deputy friend and have him haul your queer redskin ass into the back of his cruiser. Go on, get out!"

Marceline swelled with indignant rage but Bonnie's hand on her arm stopped her and instead she whirled on her heel and marched right back out the door.

"That _bastard_!" she exploded angrily the moment they were out on the street. "Who the fuck does he think he is? I could have him arrested for discrimination! Piece of shit, the fuck does he think he's calling a redskin? Natives outnumber whites nine to one in this town, does he want me to start a boycott? I'll start a fucking _riot_ ,run him right out of Alaska! Bastard!"

"Marcy, calm down. He's just a stupid old bigot. Come on, we'll drive down to Nome." Bonnie sighed. She didn't much want to make a scene, there were already a few curious locals peering at them down the snowy sidewalk.

"Nome's seventy miles away, it'll take all fucking day in this weather. Where's Finn when you need him? You know, I thought moving back to Alaska to a mostly Native area would mean less discrimination. You know what I had to put up with right through high school? 'Hey Eskimo girl, caught any seals today? Hey Eskimo, ain't you scared you'll melt in the sun? Fuck off back to Alaska, Eskimo Bitch, your type's not welcome here.' All that usual racist bullshit with a little extra crap thrown in for being gay and female too. Well fuck that old bastard. We're going to Nome."

Marceline jumped back into the cab of the truck, still scowling for all she was worth, and keyed the engine to life. Bonnie climbed up to ride shotgun and whistled for Schwabs to follow, giving him a quick hug and quiet apology that they couldn't bring the treat they'd promised. It was a long and mostly silent drive. As angry as she was at least Marcy wasn't stupid enough to try to rush along the snowy highway. She drove carefully but below the surface her anger still boiled, hot and intense. After a solid half hour of tense silence the redhead spoke carefully.

"Your accent goes real southern when you get pissed off." she observed.

"You try going to school on military bases in Georgia, looking different and speaking different and having a Yupik Mom who wants to tell you about seals and the Northern Lights and how to track hares through the snow. You learn to talk the same way as the other kids real quick if you don't want your head pushed down the toilet again."

"What did he mean he wasn't scared of your father? Your Dad was from around here too?" Bonnie asked quietly. Marceline sighed and gripped the wheel tightly enough for her knuckles to turn white; Hunson wasn't a subject that was going to improve her mood any.

"Yeah, he was from around here. So was my Mom, obviously. They met on a program for kids who'd had problems with the law. Everyone knew my father and not for any good reasons. Guess he must've gotten into it with Ron James some time, not like he'd tell me about it though. He fucking hated it here, hated the cold and the snow and the wilderness. Hated his family and his old man most of all. Got out as quick as he could; the only decent thing he ever did in his life was agree to marry my Mom after he knocked her up. Daddy was the local bad boy, not that you'd know it to see him now. Simon told me, said he used to strut around the place in a leather jacket smoking roll ups and being a general nuisance. Thought he was James Dean or some shit. Acts like a goddamn bank manager now though, you'd think he spent his teen years as a choir boy or something. Always breaking into stores and starting fights, and getting into it with Grandpa Abadeer, of course. They used to scream at each other up and down Main Street. Anyway, the short story is my Daddy got my Mom pregnant, ruined her life, took her away from her family and the place she loved and then couldn't even be bothered to send her ashes back so she could rest up here after she died. And I was only ever a problem to him, he was bored of her long before I was born and he never gave a shit about me. Still doesn't. I called him to say I was staying here and I could hear him shrug down the phone line. All he said was not to bother looking up anyone from his side of the family. If my Grandpa was alive I'd go visit just to spite my bastard father, just so I could hear him choke down the phone when I told him. My family are so messed up."

Bonnie didn't reply, there wasn't a lot she could say and _I'm sorry_ didn't quite seem to cover it. But a moment later Marceline felt a warm touch on her thigh and she took one of her own hands off the wheel to lace fingers with her girlfriend in silent support. It was weird, it almost felt like those slender fingers gently clasping her own had caused some of her anger to evaporate; she didn't even mind when it was past eleven by the time they got back from Nome laden with as many supplies as they could load into the back of the truck.


	3. Chapter 3

**The last chapter! And it's a double length one, because I suck at sticking to a word count! Some special thanks need to go with this chapter. To the ever so amazing, delectable IAmTheTrashPanda, for her southern dialogue help, all the kisses. To the awesome abelmayfair for unswerving devotion to the proofreading process and general ideas bouncing, thank yoooou. And finally to my kitties Fluff and Bella for sleeping on my lap when I was trying to type, 'helping' by walking across the keypad and play!murdering my fingers, you guys are too adorable to stay mad at.**

 **So, who's got two thumbs and still owes you the end of Desperate Measures? This dino! Ok, guys, I am sorry. I'm working on it. It's just hard to write, for... reasons. Once it's done and posted you'll understand and I promise that'll be as quickly as possible. In the meanwhile here is the last chapter of Homecoming instead. Send love to the exquisite Zouboss for requesting this and prompting me to write it.**

 **Tiny note on this chapter; I downloaded and read a full Yupik dictionary and grammar guide but I'm clearly no expert (helloooooo whiter-than-sour-cream English girl who has never been to Alaska) so if I got it wrong? Tell me. Educate me. Tell the world, because keeping indigenous languages alive is amazing and if you actually speak Alaskan Yupik let me know so we can be friends and I can learn all the language from you. I'll teach you Swedish in return, deal?**

 **Content Warning: homophobia, racial slurs, bad language, implied historical child abuse, backstory, potential misuse of Native name structures.**

* * *

The day of the race dawned pitch black, which wasn't surprising since it was midwinter's day and they were only an hour south of the Arctic Circle. Marceline rolled out of bed with a groan; she hadn't enjoyed early starts even when she'd lived someplace the temperature didn't drop to minus figures.

"Bon, babe, wake up."

" ...Nuh...Don't wanna."

"S'race day. Gotta warm the dogs up."

"Uh-huh. Go warm them up, then. Don't need both of us."

Marcy's eyes narrowed. She grabbed the blanket and tugged it off the redhead in one fluid motion, making the other woman shriek at the sudden cold air that assaulted her bare skin.

"MARCY! GIVE ME THE BLANKET!"

"Nope! Out of bed, Dr Sled Builder! I'm awake so you're awake!"

"You're an asshole." Bonnie sulked, sitting up and pouting for all she was worth.

"Yeah? I guess that makes you Mrs Asshole then. Come on, up! You wanna fix breakfast while I run with the pups?" Marceline asked with a wicked grin.

"Fine. You're getting French toast and oatmeal, you need something fortifying. Just so long as I don't have to go outside until after my coffee."

"Deal. Love you, babe."

Bonnie accepted her morning kiss with a sleepy pout and yawned her way through fixing coffee and food while her girlfriend bundled up and made her way out into the blackness followed by the ten energetic huskies who'd been sprawled all over the lounge and bedroom through the night. Schwabl limped over to the back door after them and whined sadly when all he got was a pet on the head and told he'd get a quick walk when she got back.

"Come on, old guy. You can come have some eggs." Bonnie told him fondly. His rear legs were stiffer than ever from the cold despite having the softest heated pillows to sleep on and he whined plaintively at her again as he hobbled back through to the kitchen. Schwabs was definitely entering his twilight years and Bonnie always made extra effort to shower him with affection; he got the leftover egg and some ham out of the fridge too just because she could.

Bonnie let her mind wander while she cooked up a batch of French toast and a pan of her father's secret recipe oatmeal. She'd come to Teller expecting to find some other professional sled builders, maybe build up a reputation and even get a job apprenticing to one of them. Turned out most dog sleds were either a homemade deal or shipped in from elsewhere, and the aerodynamics of a lot of them was terrible. A sled would never be as sleek as a race car but she'd been able to round off some edges, improve the top speeds with various slight tweaks here and there and test different materials to finish the bottoms of the runners with. Bonnie was pretty damn proud of the custom built sled now sitting in the back of her truck just waiting for the race to start. And it was Marceline's first race too, how amazing would to be if she won? Bonnie let her mind picture it, her beautiful and talented girlfriend being handed the winner's medal, showing the whole damn town she wasn't just Runaway Abadeer's almost-bastard, not an outsider or a soft southerner. She knew that more than anything Marceline wanted to belong in Teller, she wanted to be known as something other than the rumor about her conception. Well, she was carving out a name for herself one way or another; now she was the _queer_ almost-bastard. Nobody had said anything to them except for Ron James but Bonnie was well aware of the stares they got when they went anyplace together, she could feel eyes on them the moment people saw her truck pull into town. And a hard, angry place inside her that had been forged through years of high school bullying whispered; _let them fucking stare, they only wish they had something as good as what we've got_. The last thing Bonnie had expected to find when she came to Teller to start out as a sled builder was the single more gorgeous, intelligent, fierce, mind-blowing woman she'd ever had the pleasure to meet. And the fact that that woman had basically insisted on them moving in together straight away, wrapped her long arms around the redhead and pulled her closer in bed every night no matter how tired she claimed to be, kissed her breathless and spoke to her in a voice like honey; that was the most amazing thing ever. It almost didn't feel real, it was too perfect to be-

"ARGHH! WHAT THE FUCK? YOU'RE LIKE ICE!"

Bonnie shrieked and almost jumped out of her skin when something bitterly cold was unexpectedly pressed against the back of her neck. She turned a livid glare to her girlfriend who was howling with laughter while she took off her outdoor layers. Marceline had snuck up behind her and pressed her freezing cold nose tip against the warm skin and apparently thought that there was nothing funnier that had ever happened. She was struggling to breath around her laughter and now the dogs were howling excitedly too and- Bonnie very nearly let her breakfast burn, but she didn't because she was far too nice for a dick like Marcy, she thought furiously.

"I was talking to you, you were in your own little dream world again. Come on, babe, don't sulk." Marcy pleaded, though her irrepressible grin gave away that she still thought she was very funny.

"I hope you get lost in the snow and Gunther eats you." Bonnie grumbled. "Take the coffee over and go set the table, this is almost ready."

"Yes _Mom_." Marcy replied quietly with an eye roll. Bonnie didn't reply, she was engrossed in cooking again so Marcy just shrugged and grabbed the coffee pot and some tableware.

Breakfast was a mostly quiet affair; Marceline was beginning to feel the stirrings of nervous butterflies in her stomach and Bonnie was increasingly sensitive to her mood. She managed to get down three slices of French toast with the liberal application of coffee to help it along but the oatmeal defeated her; her mouth was just too dry and her stomach was churning.

"Eat, you're gonna be starving by the time you hit the first checkpoint." Bonnie urged worriedly.

"I can't, babe. I'm sorry. What if I fall off and make an ass of myself in front of everyone? What if I come _last?_ " Marcy murmured as she stared down glumly into her rapidly cooling oatmeal.

"Someone has to come last, and I promise it won't be you. Your sled is the best one in the race. You couldn't come last even if you were running yourself and dragging the sled behind you. Finn will be there and you've seen that antique monstrosity he's using, he's gonna take forever to finish. And Jake's dogs are all getting on a bit, he's not exactly the lightest guy to lug around. Dude's built like a mountain, if anyone's coming last it's one of them." Bonnie soothed. Marcy just shook her head and covered her face with her hands, muttering something too quietly to be heard.

"What was that?" Bonnie asked.

"I said, Ron James is gonna be there and Daniel and all Simon's old drinking buddies. Simon was so proud of me, we were gonna do the race together. There's a good chance I'mma fuck it up and disgrace his memory."

"No, you're not. You're gonna do just fine. Racing's in your blood, you told me. Didn't you Mom race every year?"

"Yeah. And she was awesome and everyone here loved her and they hated my father and... What if everyone just sees him when they look at me?"

"I'm sure they see _you_ when they look at you. Come on, sweetie. Eat up. I'll be waiting at the first checkpoint with some food and a hot drink and the backup pups. Have a few more bites of oatmeal and then we're gonna need to start loading the dogs."

Marceline sighed and reluctantly shovelled more oatmeal into her mouth. She was nervous, she didn't want to let the memories of Simon or her Mom down. But more than that she didn't want to let Bonnie down. For some insane reason the redhead believed in her and now she'd have to try to live up to that belief and run the race and not make an ass of herself. No pressure.

…

"MARCY!"

That was a voice she hadn't heard in years and Marceline turned with a self-conscious grin to catch the hug little Kitt threw on her. Except he wasn't little anymore, he was as tall as she was and beneath his hat she could just about make out an impressive crop of acne on his face between strands of greasy hair. He must be about fifteen by now, Marcy realized. The eldest of Carly and Maria's brood had just been an excitable ten year old last time she'd babysat him. His two brothers and his parents followed him; all older than she remembered and out of place in the middle of winter, surely?

"Mom, I _told_ you it was her!" Kitt was telling Carly excitedly.

"Marcy, you came home. It's so good to see you, it's been so long!" Maria grinned, throwing a hug around her shoulders. "We came up for the race, we'd given up hope of you ever coming back. Is Simon around?"

"Simon passed a few months ago, I'm sorry." Marceline replied quietly. She couldn't look at the stricken expressions on the faces of the two women who'd been part of her summers for so many years.

"I'm so sorry. We were worried about him, we thought something might be up when he didn't reply to our letter about booking a cabin this winter. Is there anything we can do?" Carly asked sympathetically. Marcy shook her head, fighting the sudden stab of grief made all the more intense for being so unexpected.

"No, we're fine. I'm up at the house now, figured I might stay a while and see if the Alaskan wilderness is all that. I owe it to the old man, he wanted me to race today and he spent his last dollar on getting the best pups and training them in, he was better than a father to me. God, I miss him."

"Sweetie, you gotta get ready to start." Bonnie reminded her softly, drawing everyone's attention.

"Oh, this is my girlfriend. Bonnie, these are Carly and Maria Jansson, and their sons Kitt, Erik and Toby. The Janssons taught me to fish when I was a kid, they always stayed in Simon's guest cabin in the summer." Marcy added, indicating the family members who waved in turn.

" _Girlfriend_ , huh? Looks like the locals were right, we got a convert!" Carly smiled. "Go on, go get your sled set up. We'll be cheering for you."

Marceline hugged them all in turn and hurried off after Bonnie to where the dogs were yipping and prancing back and forth in excitement. Carly watched them go with a fond smile.

"Girlfriend. I owe you twenty bucks." she murmured to her wife when the younger women were out of earshot.

"I told you this would happen if you let her listen to your KD Lang records." Maria replied with a smile. "Come on, boys. We'll open the flask of cocoa and I brought some knäckebröd for you to snack on, Mormor's recipe with the sesame seeds."

Marcy made her way to her sled and tried to swallow against the bone-dry feeling in her throat. Carly and Maria and their boys were up to see the race; that was another weight to add to the pressure on her. The butterflies that had appeared in her stomach over breakfast felt like they'd grown a hundred times bigger, more like huge nervous birds fluttering around in her guts. Six of the huskies were harnessed to the sleek sled Bonnie had built for her and the other four were in the back of her truck; the first checkpoint was twelve miles out of town but it was pretty unusual to need to switch dogs that early in the race unless one of them picked up an injury. Marcy wrapped Simon's old handmade scarf around her face and stared out into the Arctic gloom determinedly. She was gonna finish the damn race, she was gonna do it for all the people who believed in her.

"Didn't know we were running the Homo Hundred." an obnoxious voice announced from behind her. Marcy grit her teeth; that was the last thing she needed.

"Fuck off, Ron." she replied, not even turning to look at him.

"Or what? _Y'all_ gonna get your shotgun and run me off? Did _y'alls_ girlfriend fix up a batch of iced tea and grits for _y'all_?" Ron drawled in a poor imitation of Marceline's accent.

"Ron, come on man. Leave it, she's barely more than a kid."

That was Daniel, the local pastor and another of Simon's buddies. He'd always been kind to Marceline when she'd been a kid, always slipped her a little candy after church that Simon had pretended he didn't know about.

"Dumb hillbilly coming up here like she owns the place, I hear they kicked her outta the south for being a queer anyway. Fuck off back to Texas, cowgirl. We don't need none of your type in Alaska!" Ron yelled.

Marceline could feel the eyes of the crowd on her back and she swallowed down her anger and resolved to simply ignore him. Ron could say what he wanted, Simon had raised her to solve problems with her head not her firsts. But Ron didn't just didn't know when to shut up. From the slur in his words it was obvious he'd been reinforcing his liquor blanket all morning and he pushed his luck just a bit too far.

"Your uncle would've been ashamed of you, girl. He-"

The older man never got to tell her what Simon would or wouldn't be doing because Marceline's shoulders stiffened in fury and she whirled without any warning, full body weight behind the rock solid punch that sped towards him. Before he finished his sentence her clenched fist crashed into the side of his face and despite the padding from her glove around the blow Ron dropped with a cry of surprise like he'd been shot.

"Don't y'all dare speak another word about Simon, not to me nor anyone. That goes for the rest'a y'all too. I'm Yupik, I'm more Alaskan than you, Ron James. And I grew up in Florida, Georgia and California. I ain't never even bin to Texas. All y'all Yankee's ain't no better at geography than y'are at taking punches. Get up and get on your sled, the race is starting." Marcy snarled at him, deliberately letting her accent slip into the most Southern lilt she could manage.

Ron stood, face burning with shame and anger, and advanced on where she'd resumed her place on her sled. He completely missed that Joshua Madigan, Jake's father, was raising his pistol into the air to signal the imminent start of the running.

" _You piece of shit redskin_ -"

The pistol cracked and the dogs knew what that meant even if Ron had forgotten. They surged forward in an excited mass of barking and yelling and he stumbled out of the way of the sleds as they shot off into the darkness.

"Piece of shit redskin, better watch your back." Ron muttered to himself as he sprinted after his own driverless sled; his dogs were following the others but were just jogging along in confusion without anyone directing them.

…

A few miles past the town limits the racers thinned out; most of the seasoned runners let their dogs fall into a steady rhythm to conserve energy but Gunther surged ahead and set a quick pace. He was the designated lead dog as the biggest and most experienced but he also had a mind of his own and tended to ignore as many of her commands as he listened to. Soon Marceline was out of sight of most of the other runners; she passed Finn on the outskirts of a wooded hill.

"Trail! Slow down or you're gonna wear them out before the first checkpoint!" he yelled as her sled shot past his.

"I'm trying to hold them back!" Marcy yelled. Finn replied but she couldn't quite hear him over the whistle of freezing snow-laden wind rushing past her and the yip and whine of the dogs.

"Gunther, seriously, you're gonna run yourself into the ground!" she yelled at him as he took another tight bend at a full gallop and the sled swung dangerously. "Gee!"

He swung right around another corner and Marcy leaned into the bend the same way Simon had taught her as a child when she'd practiced on wheeled summer sleds. Despite the heavy, insulating clothing and the adrenaline rushing through her bloodstream Marceline was starting to feel the cold. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the secret weapon she'd grabbed from the kitchen before they left the house that morning. They weren't much to look at; a roll of innocent looking little black candies that glittered like they'd been frosted with sugar. That was a trick to catch unwary thieves though. The tiny white crystals covering their surface were salt; they were little hard-boiled Scandinavian salted liquorice of the kind that reviled most everyone except for the hardy souls from the countries where they were a national delicacy. Luckily Marcy had acquired a taste for them in childhood; Maria had always been liberal in sharing her treats and of course for any self-respecting seven year old the lure of grossing out their uncle with salty candy overcame her initial dislike of the taste. She sucked on one and hummed happily at the sharp flavour; salt liquorice was childhood and summer and splashing through the streams with Schwabl looking for minnows. Soon she could feel the tingling warmth spreading right down to her toes which was lucky since the snow was coming down harder than ever and it was still pitch black.

Other than the whine of the dogs and the whistle of the wind as it rushed past the snowy forest trail was dead silent. Marcy hadn't see any other runners since she'd overtaken Finn and she had a strange feeling like she might be in the lead. She made one last futile pull on the brakes and Gunther finally slowed to a reluctant canter, whining at not being allowed to sprint full pelt for as long as possible.

"That's it, slow down some. Gotta save yourself for the last sprint at the end of the day." Marcy muttered, although she knew the big lead dog couldn't hear her.

As the landscape streamed past them the gloom began to lift, just a little. So they were approaching mid-morning then, and that meant they must be somewhere near the first checkpoint. Sure enough Marcy finally saw it up ahead as the trees thinned out. There was Bonnie's truck along with a decent number of other spectators waiting for their racer to come through. Gunther knew what the checkpoint meant, he'd run the Teller Hundred for the last three years. He slowed and trotted up to the veterinary team the moment he saw them, wagging his tail and yapping excitedly. Marcy jumped down from the sled and stretched her back out while Bonnie hurried forward with a snack and a drink for her.

"You're the first one though, you're gonna need to slow down or they'll be worn out." the redhead told her worriedly as Gunther was given the all-clear and the vets moved onto the next dog.

"Tell Gunts that, he just took off and wouldn't slow at all for the first ten miles or so. I'm thinking of putting him in the back and letting one of the others up front but he's the biggest and he's used to being the leader. What do you think?"

"Keep him up front, looks like he's run off most of his excess energy for now. Maybe move him to the back for the second leg tomorrow?" Bonnie replied thoughtfully.

"See how he's feeling in the morning. You ok out here?" Marcy added, sliding her scarf to one side and pressing a quick kiss to her girlfriend's cheek.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Wasn't expecting to see you yet. Get some food down you, have a quick break and we'll start your timer again when you set off. Mush, rookie!"

All the dogs were declared fit to continue and after a couple of minutes of slurping down hot soup Marcy boarded her sled once more.

"On Gunther! On Dancer! On Prancer and Vixen! Mush!" she yelled with a cocky grin. All six dogs leapt forwards after their leader; Gunther was the only one whose actual name she'd called anyway but they'd all been born knowing the meaning of the word 'mush'. The sounds of Bonnie's helpless laughter behind her kept her smile in place for at least the first mile. The redhead had been right, she realized as the light grew and the pristine ice fields around her began to glisten in the weak sun. Racing was in her blood, she was born for this.

...

It was getting dark again by the time she reached the second checkpoint and swapped out a couple of the younger dogs for some of their fresher brothers. By nightfall Marcy had dropped behind a few of the other runners and as she was on the final approach into Teller for the last sprint of the day Ron James himself overtook her. He yelled something probably insulting but the wind stole his words away and Marceline just casually flipped him the bird as he sped past. There were only two ways the day had played out for Ron; either he'd kept drinking while racing, which was damn stupid as well as dangerous, or he was nursing a hangover by now. Either way, the man was a fool. Marceline swept into Teller a respectable sixth for that section although her time for the first leg of the race would work out in her favour. Bonnie was waiting with the Jenssons at the finish line and made a show of giving her a deep kiss right in front of where Ron James was snarling at the veterinary team. He growled something incoherent and stormed off in the direction of his store, leaving his dogs and sled for an apologetic Daniel to take charge of.

"What a dick." little Toby announced, frowning down the street at the man. He'd only been four when Marcy had last seen him, now he was a rambunctious nine year old who'd inherited his Mama's elfin features. She was surprised he still remembered her but apparently her piggybacks and fearsome impressions of a hungry grizzly bear looking for little boy tummies to tickle were the stuff that idyllic childhood memories were made of.

"Nasty word for a little fella like yourself to be using, Toby." she chided him with a fond smile.

"Mom called him a dick, too." the little boy replied, sticking his tongue out. Maria turned a glare on her wife who just shrugged.

"You got a better way to describe Ron James? He's unpleasant at the best of times but when he's hitting the bottle the man's unbearable." Carly replied. She turned to Marcy and Bonnie with her signature 'mothering the whole world' expression in place. "You guys feeling up to company tonight? I know you're probably worn out from the race but we brought some food up in the RV, thought you might like to put your feet up with kids and let us fix an indoor barbeque?"

"Someone else cooking? How could I say no?" Marcy replied happily.

They spent the night laughing together in the lounge, eating various grilled foodstuffs covered in Maria's secret kebab sauce and chatting about Marceline's future plans. She hadn't really considered what she'd do long term, for the time being she was just living off the money Simon had left her although she was aware that it wouldn't last forever.

"Is Gunther a Siberian or a Malamute?" Kitt asked curiously, examining the dog's face minutely.

"Malamute, actually. Simon got him from a guy he knew who ran the Iditarod every year. Both his parents are race winners, not that you'd know it looking at that fatty." Marcy snorted.

"You ever consider studding him? Reckon there's a pile to be made from the pup-juice of race winners. I mean, that'd be if you continued running with him. Since you had the third fastest time today and you're still just a rookie and all I'd be surprised if you stopped." Kitt added slyly.

"Don't you give me that look, Kitten." Marcy warned, deploying his old childhood nickname. "That's your 'please tell my mothers I need a puppy' look, I know what that look means. And yeah, I'd consider breeding from the grumpy old git. Got some pedigree papers for him somewhere. Why'd you ask?"

"A pedigree Malamute from Iditarod race stock? You're talking at least two thousand dollars per puppy, maybe more. Just, you said you don't really have a plan for income. I'd do it, if I was allowed." Kitt shrugged. He shot Carly in particular a significant look which the brunette ignored with long practice; she loved animals as much as everyone else in the family but with four cats plus full time jobs and school there just wasn't time to give a dog all the attention it deserved. Marceline didn't notice though, she was busy doing some quick mental math.

"Average litter size is about six for a Malamute, same again for the huskies. Assuming they're all pedigree and from good stock, a single litter a year raised in a loving home... we're talking around twenty four thousand dollars income from breeding them, and that's as family pets. More if we breed runners and show dogs. Plus stud fees for Gunts. Huh, you're right, little Kitten. That's a healthy income. Gotta pay Kennel Club membership of course, and vets bills. But it's better than anything I came up with yet. Anyone ever tell you you're a clever guy?"

"Can I get you to call my Physics teacher and tell him that?" Kitt asked with a grin. "Mom, can I come up through the summer and help Marcy and Bonnie train their pups?"

"Depending on your grade average, yeah." Carly replied.

"I can help if you want, I'm actually collaborating on a couple of textbooks aimed at kids around Kitt's age with some classmates from Fairbanks. I certainly wouldn't mind a little extra tutoring." Bonnie smiled. Kitt rolled his eyes but it was clear he'd do more or less anything for a summer hanging out with the dogs.

They all trooped to bed not long after that; Marcy let the Janssons stay in the spare bedroom and the kids curled up on the pull out sofa since it was much warmer in the house than in the RV. Gunther plodded up the stairs after Marcy and glared at her when she lifted old Schwabl onto the best spot at the end of the bed.

"Go to sleep, grumpy butt." she told the big Malamute fondly.

"Y'talking to me?" Bonnie asked sleepily.

"Nah, Gunts. But you can be my grumpy butt too if you wanna. Come to bed, gotta keep your energy up to cheer me on my way to glorious victory tomorrow."

Marcy flicked off the light and tugged the blankets up around her shoulders. Her last thought before she closed her eyes was that she felt sorry for Ron James, all alone in his little apartment above the store. Not even his dogs liked him too much.

"Love's a terrible thing to hate." she muttered drowsily into the darkness.

"Hm? Yuh. Love you too." Bonnie murmured, sliding a little closer and pressing her face adoringly into her girlfriend's hair.

...

"MUSH! HIKE! ALL RIGHT! LET'S GO! BRING 'EM HOME, GUNTHER!"

She'd ran them hard and long but the custom built sled had paid off and despite her slower start on the second morning Marcy was fairly confident she was pretty close to winning the race. She'd taken a fairly long rest at the second checkpoint that day but her speed from the first day's racing had been pretty solid so she could afford the let the pups get their breaths. Even still, Gunther was straining at the harness and almost dragging a couple of the smaller dogs off their feet in his eagerness to re-join the race so Marcy had jumped back onto the sled and let him have the rein. The last twenty miles were purely for sprinting and Gunther was in his element, giving it his all. The sled flew over the powdery new snow and Marcy felt like she was flying with it, soaring through the frosted landscape like a ghost. They were coming up to a steep downward hill through some thick trees when she saw something unusual up ahead; a splash of color against the monochrome of white and silver on the side of a sleep bank in the trail. There was only one thing that looked that shade of red and it stabbed into her eyes like a flashing sign. There was fresh blood on the snow.

"Whoa! Slow up, guys." Marcy shouted to the dogs, hitting the breaks and pulling them up to a trot and then a standstill.

She scanned the trees behind her and to each side; there was every chance it was a predator of some kind and Marceline had no intention of being some hungry polar bear's next meal. She unzipped her jacket just enough to reach a gloved hand into the inner pocket and carefully pull out the Smith and Wesson pistol bequeathed to her in Simon's will. It was surprisingly heavy, for a handgun, but it still wouldn't be enough to bring down a full grown polar bear with one shot. Simon had always told her if she came up against a bear or another large predator to aim for the knees and paws; it couldn't chase her down without all four legs working right. Not that she'd ever shot anything that wasn't a tin can behind the house or a couple of rounds on the firing range when she'd lived on naval bases with her father but Marcy was fairly confident she'd be able to handle herself if it came down to it.

There was a fresh break in the trees off to the left not far from the churned up bloody snow, like something had clumsily snapped the branches and crashed down the side of the bank. She crept forward, flicking the safety off the gun and pointing it warily ahead. The forest was silent; it didn't sound like there were any other racers nearby but that didn't mean she was alone. A polar bear could move silently on paws the size of dinner plates tipped in butcher's knives. Marceline was very aware that she was losing precious time investigating the blood and risking getting mauled if the bear got the jump on her but she couldn't shake the feeling that something was badly wrong. Gunther was growling behind her, ears flat and eyes rolling anxiously. He knew it too. Something was out of place.

Without warning a dark shape loomed with a gasp between the broken branches of the trees leading down the slope into a frozen stream. Marcy was pulling the trigger automatically and simultaneously yanking the gun to one side in the same instant. The gun cracked and the bullet slammed through a branch a couple of inches left of Ron James' bloodied and bare head.

"Y'gon... shoot me... r-redskin?" he panted as he clawed his way back up the bank. Marcy lowered the pistol and stared.

"I thought you were a bear. The fuck happened to y'all? Where's your sled?" she asked, stunned.

"Fuckin... polar b-bear. Spooked th-th... dogs, sled... o-overturned. Hit m'head. Dogs... ran off... s'pose I'm gon die out... out here." he slurred around teeth that chattered badly from the cold.

"Like hell you are. Come on, up y'all git. You're comin' on my sled and I ain't letting you freeze to death out here, you old bastard. Simon wouldn'ta wanted me to leave his friend to die." Marcy snapped back, not bothering to hide the Southern twang again. Ron had dragged himself out onto the trail and was fumbling in his pocket for something; after a moment he pulled out a hip flask and went to open it. Marceline grabbed it out of his trembling hands before he could take a swig and deftly whipped her hat off, poured some of the moonshine onto it and dabbed at the vicious gash across the side of the older man's head before pouring the rest over the blood in the snow. Ron cried out as the alcohol burned his open wound but he didn't complain. For all his abrasive attitude his eyes were pleading; he knew she was his only chance right now.

"It won't do nothin' for any blood further down the bank but it'll confuse the hell outta the bear round these parts for now if he comes sniffing around for food. How long were y'all down there?" she asked as she shrugged out of her jacket.

"D-dunno. Feels like forever? M'cold." Ron admitted quietly.

He didn't resist as she hauled him up off his knees and wrapped her thick jacket around him. His breath stunk like the moonshine she'd tipped into the snow; no wonder he hadn't been able to keep his sled upright when his dogs had spooked. Marcy scowled to herself and grabbed the salt liquorice from her jacket pocket again before shoving one past his teeth. Ron choked and went to spit it out but she clamped his jaw shut and stared into his eyes angrily.

"It'll warm you up, don't you dare spit that out you son of a bitch. It don't taste no worse than the gut rot you were drinkin'."

"T-trying to p-poison me." Ron mumbled when she removed her hand from his jaw, but he dutifully kept the candy in his mouth.

The front of the sled had a small space for carrying an injured dog if it was needed, there wasn't a lot of room for a full grown man though and Ron had to curl up as much as he could to fit. Gunther and the huskies were prancing nervously in their harnesses; no doubt they could smell the polar bear. Marceline kept the handgun out and readied, scanning the growing gloom as they made their slow way back toward Teller. They were still at least eighteen miles out, the daylight was fading fast and Marcy had no hat or jacket. She clenched her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering and told herself there was no such thing as the cold, it was just in her head. The dogs strained against the extra load but Marcy hadn't trained them to run with anything more than the weight of an injured dog and Ron loved his food just as much every other fifty-something white guy in the area. He was easily the weight of five huskies and their progress was slow.

About a mile down the track a racer flashed past them. Marcy shouted to whoever it was but they were going far too fast to hear her and let out a whoop of joy as the snow from their sled kicked up into the faces of her dogs.

"Hope the bear eats you, asshole." Marceline muttered sourly. Ron surprised her with a wheezy laugh; she honestly thought he'd fallen asleep. At least he sounded warmer, Marcy thought jealously.

"That was Lydia Sommerville-Pearson, she wouldn't stop for anyone. Recognized her Papa's best sled dog up front. Y'know she has her eye on that big Brad Whaddyacallhim from over Port Clarence way. Isn't right, a girl like her messing around with a redsk- uh, Native like him. No offence."

Marceline snorted although she didn't think it was even a bit funny.

"Y'all are worried about offending me _now?"_ she asked bitterly. "Y'know my Daddy was as white as the first snow, right? Dude cain't even go out in summer without a hat else he burns redder'n I am."

Ron muttered something in reply but it was too quiet to hear over the panting of the dogs straining against the extra weight on the sled and Marceline didn't trouble herself to ask him to repeat it. Her heart had sunk down to her boots. There was no chance of winning the race now, she'd be lucky not to come last. And she was colder than she could ever remember being, she was shivering violently against the bitter wind that was picking up around them without her thick jacket and hat to protect her. They continued in silence as sled after sled rushed past them; not even Finn stopped to help, probably he thought she'd had a dog injured. Beside the finish line on Main Street was only a few miles away now, the racers would all be focussed on their finishing times. Nobody had a second to stop and check who'd dropped to a crawl or why. At least there was no sign of the bear.

"Hey, Abadeer." Ron spoke up over the crunch of snow and ice beneath overburdened runners, "Anyone ever told you that you got the look of your Mom about you?"

"Only a hundred times a day since I first came here as a kid, yeah." she sighed in reply.

"She was a sassy one, too. Gave your uncle the run around plenty of times. They sent him over to mentor her at the high school, her and a bunch of other kids. One day she stole his snow mobile and rode out past the lake, he had to hitch up the dogs and sled out after her." Ron chuckled.

"I... did not know that." Marcy replied, confused. "I thought she was a model student and general goodie two-shoes who got corrupted by Hunson?"

"There's plenty who'll tell you that, for sure. Bullshit. She was a wild one, your mother. Smart as a whip, but headstrong. Like you. More fool Abadeer for ever tangling with her, I never saw a man as out of his depth as he was. We were all real sad when heard she'd been killed."

"Yeah. Me too."

"Your Daddy, now he was sorta wild too. Same kinda wild, maybe. I mentored him myself for a while, the sheriff thought a strong role male model might help him past his emotional difficulties. Poor kid needed less strong men in his life, if you ask me. Wasn't right, what your Grandpa did to that boy. No kid that age should have those kinda bruises. He was real scared he'd turn out the same way when they found out you were on your way. Your Daddy ever raise a hand to you, girl?"

"No, never. He didn't even yell, most of the time he'd go out to the bar when he got pissed about something. Daddy wasn't around much when I was a kid. My Grandpa used to hit my father?" Marceline asked quietly. She'd forgotten how cold and miserable she was in the revelation that perhaps Hunson's behaviour to her hadn't been caused by a lack of giving a fuck about her.

"I'll bet old Hunson wished it was just hitting, girl. He might not have been a model father to you but if that man never laid a hand on you in anger or any other way then he kept his promise to me the night before he left."

They lapsed into silence for a while longer. Marcy shivered and tried to think warm thoughts while she helped the laboring dogs lug the sled up a sleep slope and Ron sighed to himself; at least it sounded like he was starting to sober up. She pushed the thoughts of her father from her head and the kind of horrors he might have endured there; perhaps it wasn't coincidence that her grandfather had died a few months before she was allowed to fly north for the first time. If he'd been as much of a monster as Ron was implying then her father's refusal to let her into the same state as him made perfect sense. With a quiet snarl she pushed Hunson from her mind, she had a race to finish losing. One more sled shot past as they rounded the corner of the last hill and pushed through the thinning trees until the tiny town of Teller stretched out below them, all lit up like a Christmas tree. Two miles left, then. They must be the last runners.

"Hey, girl." Ron said softly. "Look. The Lights are out for you."

He pointed upwards and Marceline raised her eyes to follow his finger. The Northern Lights were indeed just beginning to dance in the clear night, the clouds had all blown away and the moon was shining bright as a button in the sky that stretched like an immense blanket overhead.

"They say the dead dance up in those lights, y'know." Ron told her with a sage nod.

"I know. It's an old legend." Marcy replied. She didn't feel like she had words enough to explain the irony of Ron James the Local Bigot telling old Yupik tales to the woman he'd banned from his store for being unapologetically Native and queer, even if he was full of revelations about her father.

"Reckon old man Simon's dancing up there with all his dogs. Probably your Mom too. That girl could dance like nobody's business."

"My Mom danced?"

"She danced any chance she got, danced at every festival. You knew something was wrong if she wasn't shifting from foot to foot like she was just itching to twirl and prance. Wanted to go professional and she had the talent for it. But nobody in The Big Town had the heart to tell her they just don't employ redskins from the frozen asshole of nowhere to dance on Broadway."

"She never danced at home, not that I remember."

"Yeah, she stopped when she met your Daddy. Maybe that son of a bitch crushed the spirit out of her, who knows. They were a complicated pair, your parents."

The finishing line was in sight and there were a number shapes and lights moving towards them over the snow; after a second of squinting into the brightness Marcy realized they were headlights and she could hear the rumble of snow mobile motors racing towards them. She hit the brakes and the dogs gratefully stopped their exhausting march through the snow. A minute later the first vehicle was close enough to reveal it was the sheriff's snow mobile with the big man himself riding along and a frantic looking Bonnie perched on the back. The redhead flung herself down before the sheriff had even brought the snow mobile to a standstill and next second she'd thrown both arms around Marceline's neck and tugged her into a hug.

"I was so worried, are you ok? Where were you? Are you hurt?" she asked in a rush, anxious eyes scanning every uncovered patch of skin on her girlfriend's face for an injury.

"Not hurt, just freezing and tired. Ron got thrown off his sled, I had to stop for him." Marcy replied wearily. She turned to the huge giant of a man who was sliding off the snow mobile. "Hey, you the sheriff?"

"Sure am. Name's Billy Askoak, I hear you already met my deputy. You must be Amlliq's girl." he said in a surprisingly soft voice, looking her up and down.

"Um, I think you're mistaking me for someone else." Marcy muttered.

"Nah, Amlliq Imgalrea. Ran off with that hell raiser Abadeer boy years back. She was your Mom, right?"

"I- Was... was that her Yupik name? Daddy just called her Amy."

"White boys." Billy sighed, shaking his head in disappointment. "Her given name was Amlliq-Qar. The Ocean Wave Sweeping Forward. Your mother was my father's cousin, so that makes us kin. You've got her face. And you rescued old Ron Klansman, you're a better person that I would've been."

"There was a polar bear in the forest, I dunno how close to town it mighta come." Marcy told him hurriedly. Billy nodded, face growing serious.

"I'll call the bear patrol but it'll be a while before they get here. Me and Finn will keep watch around the town limits, keep an eye out for it. I don't want anyone heading out to the east side of town until that bear's been caught or driven off. Come on, Ron. Up on the snow mobile and let _Qiptekitugta_ rest her dogs."

Marceline stared at the big Native man curiously, trying to piece together what he'd just called her from the few words of Yupik language her mother had taught her way back in childhood.

"...Female child... Comes back?" she asked after a second.

"Yup. Customary round our parts for you to have a traditional name as well as your Christian name. Welcome home, Returned Daughter."

"Qiptekitugta." Marcy murmured to herself. She liked the way it felt in her mouth even if the syllables were half forgotten. "The Daughter Who Returns Home."

"Returning home sounds pretty wonderful to me." Bonnie replied softly. She still hadn't unwound her arms from Marcy's neck and seemed reluctant to let go of her at all.

In the end Bonnie hitched a ride back into town with Finn and Marcy let her dogs trot tiredly up to where she'd left her pickup that morning. Gunther gave her a look of pure disgust as she loaded him into the back, like he understood she'd thrown her lead in the race to help man who hated her on principle. By the time Bonnie was driving them carefully along the compacted ice road out of town and the cab was starting to heat up Marcy had let her eyes slip closed and they didn't open again until they pulled up outside the house.

...

It took a couple of days before the dogs were recovered enough to want to run again and Marceline couldn't blame them. She was still stiff and sore from helping push the overburdened sled through the snow and up hills and it had taken a long time wrapped in blankets when they came home before her shivering had stopped enough for her to relax and sleep soundly. Even longer before her exhausted body had the strength to stay awake for more than a couple of hours without taking a nap. The near constant darkness didn't help either. She completely lost track of the time and when Bonnie disappeared outside for a couple of hours two days after the race and was thumping around downstairs humming to herself Marcy didn't think much of it, just rolled over in bed and continued her nap. The combination of the scent of roasting meat wafting up the stairs and Schwabl pawing at the closed door and drooling so much he'd left a wet patch on the rug woke her in one of the rare patches of daylight and Marcy sat up, still groggy and disorientated. She petted his shaggy head sleepily and stared around looking for clues about what time of day it might be. There was weak sunlight outside; must be around noon, she figured.

"C'mon then. Guess Bon fixed our dinner." Marceline told him around a yawn as she opened the door and stumbled out to the narrow wooden staircase. She stopped halfway down, wrinkling her nose. She could smell something fruity and familiar along with the roast but her sleep fogged brain couldn't quite place it. And there was a whole muddle of cheerful voices in the kitchen, had people come over and Bonnie hadn't woken her? Schwabs hobbled right down the hall as fast as his stiff old legs would carry him; he could smell food and nothing was going to get in his way, not when the other dogs were outside and he could claim the lion's share of the scraps.

"Hey, old buddy! You want some turkey and ham?"

That was a voice that was out of place; Marceline frowned harder and hurried down the rest of the staircase. When she entered the kitchen she stopped dead and stared around in confusion.

Ron James, Daniel, Billy, Finn, Jake and all five Janssons were squeezed into her dining area. Admittedly it was a fairly large space but with ten guests plus Bonnie, Schwabl and herself the room felt tiny. The table had twelve places set and Bonnie was pulling the biggest turkey Marceline had ever seen out of the oven. She turned to her girlfriend with a huge grin across her face.

"Happy Christmas! I was gonna come wake you, surprise!"

"But- it's not... is it Christmas?" she asked in bewilderment.

"It's the same day every yeah, Qiptekitugta." Ron told her with a self-conscious smile. He had a sterile dressing covering the deep gash on his head and he stumbled over the pronunciation of the Yupik name but it was the first time he'd called her anything except for 'queer', 'redskin' or 'Abadeer'. Marceline stared at him.

"I uh, I brought you all of the festive foods we had left in the store. Didn't feel right about your good lady driving all the way out to Nome for last minute groceries, not when it was such a long way in the snow and you were still laid up with exhaustion and all. I called ahead, guess you must've been asleep still. But she said you got the hypothermia from giving me your jacket and hat." Ron muttered, looking down and shuffling his feet in embarrassment. "Listen, I'm real ashamed of how I've been acting towards you both. You're a good person and you're right, what you do in your home is nobody else's business. I'm sorry I was rude to you, real sorry I insulted your uncle's memory. Simon was the best man I knew. And looks like he raised you right, you're a real credit to him. I wanted to make it up to you for saving my life. Billy said they finally ran that bear off this morning."

"Yup yup, ran him all the way out past Mary's Igloo and left him with a whole barrel of salted fish to keep him fed. Don't think he'll be back anytime soon. Took us a while to track him, he was real thin and hungry." the big sheriff nodded.

"We got you some cranberries!" Toby interrupted happily with the kind of enthusiasm only a nine year old could manage. "And Mom crocheted you a new scarf for your present!"

"Toby, that was supposed to be a surprise." Maria chided him with a sigh and a shake of her head.

"Right, everyone sit, I'm carving this bird." Bonnie announced. She pushed a wispy strand of light red hair off her face and shot Marcy a smile before shooing their guests to their seats and pressing a hasty and slightly self-conscious kiss to her girlfriend's cheek. Marcy still looked like she'd been hit over the head with a shovel.

"It's Christmas Day." she finally announced, like she'd only just realized what the food and all the gifts were for.

"Yeah. It's three days after the twenty second, four days after midwinter. Sit down and fix your plate." Carly told her gently, taking her arm and pushing her into a seat at the head of the table.

Bonnie placed a glass of something brown and a little murky in her hand and Marceline sniffed it cautiously. She gave her girlfriend a long, assessing look when she figured out what it was.

"What? Did I make it wrong? I, uh, I've never made it before and I wasn't sure how much sugar to use." the redhead told her nervously.

Marcy took a sip, let it wash across her tongue and nodded slowly as she swallowed.

"No ma'am, that's the best iced tea north'a Atlanta. Y'all made it perfectly." she drawled with a grin.

It was best Christmas Day Marceline could remember ever having. Most of their guests took their leave after nightfall with their stomachs full and smiles still stretched across their faces. The snow was coming down again but not heavily, just falling lightly on the trees and ground. Marcy put the lounge lights off so the room was illuminated by just the wood burner and she leaned back into Bonnie's arms on the sofa, resting her head lovingly on her girlfriend's shoulder.

"How are you feeling?" the redhead asked quietly after a long minute of silent hugging and watching the snowflakes drifting past the window.

"Awake. And warm again, finally. You think next year we can get presents to give back to everyone? I felt bad for not having anything to give in return."

"Of course. We can make sleds for everyone."

"You're such a sled dork."

"And you're not? You know, they've already opened betting on you winning next year's Teller Hundred. Finn put fifty dollars on you."

"I might come second just to see his face when he realizes I threw the race." Marcy snorted.

"Pfft. As if you'd throw a race for anything but noble reasons. You're a hero, you know." Bonnie replied fondly.

Marceline didn't answer for a long moment; instead she stared pensively into the dancing flames with a tiny smile curling the corners of her mouth. She shook her head before replying but the smile was still there when she opened her mouth to speak.

"I don't feel like a hero. I just did what anyone would've done. I just feel like... me. You know? The daughter who returns home."

They watched the snow drift silently for a while longer before going to feed the dogs, banking the fire and heading up to bed for an early night. Marceline paused on the stairs and glanced at the clock in the hall; it was only nine thirty. That meant it was ten thirty in San Diego, that wasn't so late, right?

"Babe? You head on up, I'll be a minute. I just gotta make a quick phone call."

Bonnie nodded like she'd already figured it out, pressed a sleepy kiss to her girlfriend's cheek and continued up to the bedroom. Marceline descended the stairs slowly and approached the old phone in the hall. She picked up the receiver, dialled the number from memory and tried not to hold her breath with nerves. After a long minute the line connected and she heard a voice on the other end.

"Daddy? It's me. Happy Christmas."


End file.
